


It's about you, of course

by chillsoya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Bad Poetry, But mostly cute, Daphne will flirt with anyone, Dialogue Heavy, English lit student Daphne, F/F, F/M, Fashion student Pansy, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Muggle University, Mutual Pining, Pansy is a grumpy bitch, Society dinners, Sort of hurt/comfort themes in the middle, Swearing, They're both oblivious, University, barely proof read, flatmates, mentions of nudity, of course, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillsoya/pseuds/chillsoya
Summary: “Is that… Poetry?”Pansy shuts the notebook with a smack and examines her manicure. Daphne stands about a foot or so to the side, holding her diamond droplet earrings between finger and thumb. They glint in the light of Pansy’s desk lamp, quivering so that the reflection is dazzling.“No.”





	It's about you, of course

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a spur of the moment thing while I'm working on other stuff. I've not had a lot of motivation lately and I wanted to write something kind of happy for a change :) Comments give me life so I'd appreciate you're thoughts, guys!

“Is that… Poetry?”

Pansy shuts the notebook with a smack and examines her manicure. Daphne stands about a foot or so to the side, holding her diamond droplet earrings between finger and thumb. They glint in the light of Pansy’s desk lamp, quivering so that the reflection is dazzling.

“No.”

The room is frigid with the window open; one of their flatmates - probably Draco - has attempted to cook something and subsequently stank the whole apartment out. The desk is peppered with stick diffusers trying to mask the stench of burnt garlic.

“Liar,” Daphne retorts with a smirk, kicking her heels off by Pan’s bed and heading to the small mirror set into the wall above the drawers. Her makeup is, of course, immaculate; she searches through Pansy’s stuff for a wipe.  
“Me? Never. Lying’s a sin, darling.”

They’ve been best friends for perhaps 2 years now, Daphne studying English lit. and Pansy fashion design at the local university. They had roomed together in their first year and survived three terms with their beds separated by only a narrow set of drawers, so small the dorm was. Since then they opted to continue living with each other; it’s not often you find someone who you can tolerate being that close so often.

“Any luck at your society dinner, then?” Pansy has filed the notebook away on her bookshelf, hoping the black spine will allow it to blend into the other books tightly stuffed in. Daphne sighs, a light rattling punctuating her exhale as she puts down her silver chain necklace.  
“Neville can’t take a hint, so I’m done trying; think he’s still interested in Luna, anyway.”  
“I thought Luna had a girlfriend,” Pansy muses, entirely uninterested in the lives of others unless it was Daphne’s.  
“Ginny? Dunno. She moved away to the next city over for sports stuff, anyways.”

How Daphne managed to know so much about everyone around them miffed Pansy, who largely kept her focus within her own small circle. She had learned to keep her nose out of other people’s business during high school; Daphne was fair and beautiful enough to uphold a guise of innocence as she poked and prodded.

It was harmless, anyway.

“So, when did you get into poetry?”

Pansy grimaces, leaning back against the edge of her desk and watching Daphne combing her fingers through her hair.  
“I didn’t ‘get into’ it. I wasn’t writing poetry,” she huffs, rearranging the waistband of her skinny jeans. Daphne’s permanent smirk edges further out to her cheek.   
“Certainly looked like poetry - thought you thought that stuff was for, well… Pansies?”

Pansy’s eyes roll so vigorously that for a half second the whites of her eyes are fully on show. Daphne giggles at her own awful pun, turning her back to her friend and signalling for her to undo the zip of her dress.

“So original, Daphne,” Pansy snorts. Daphne just shrugs and slips out of her dress sleeves, leaving her naked to her waist. Pansy has seen this before - she oughtn’t stare.

“Neville did at least eye me up at dinner today,” Daphne informs her. Pansy almost grimaces again - why she had to know about Daph’s endless flirtations, she didn’t understand. “But when I tried to chat him up a bit, he just kind of changed the subject. Like, again and again; I don’t even think he noticed!”  
“I reckon he did notice. You’re not sly, Daph.”  
“I am a bit,” Daph disagrees mildly, shimmying out of the dress and going to the wardrobe, not asking to borrow clothes but assuming she has rite of passage here.  
“Not with flirting.” Pansy is meandering by her desk, looking at her nails so that she misses the pointed look Daphne gives her.

 

“You going out for coffee with Blaise tomorrow?” Daphne asks, blessedly changing the subject. Pansy perks up a little.  
“Yeah; still kind of shellshocked he asked me out though.”  
“I’m not.”  
“Well you haven’t known him since you were thirteen - he’s waited a bloody long time to get ‘round to it,” Pansy laughs, shaking her head so that her bangs shift out of their usual neatness. “Either way, I’m kind of on edge.”  
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Daphne insists, flapping a hand at her friend dismissively. She seems less engaged in this conversation and Pansy notices it. “He’s known you a long time so he knows what he’s getting into. And anyway, I told you I thought he was into you when he first came ‘round to watch a movie in the dorms.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Pansy sighs, flopping down on the edge of her bed. Daphne has changed into a pair of Pan’s sweatpants and band tee.  
“What? You got cold feet?”

Pansy looks up at Daphne, who is looking at her with her arms crossed. The desk lamp is shining against her back, lighting up her platinum blonde hair around her. Pansy stares helplessly for a long moment, wishing this visual didn’t abate her irritation that every time the conversation is about Pan, Daphne disengages on some level or another.

“No, not at all,” she retorts, but it sounds weak even to herself. Daph hums, sitting down on the bed next to her and beginning to pick at her nail polish.  
“Well, it’ll be fine. I don’t think I’d have said yes to him, though; if Neville made me wait six years, I’d have-”  
“Can we not talk about you for like, five minutes?” Pansy snaps, shifting so they aren’t sitting shoulder to shoulder. Daphne stops speaking abruptly and the coldness of the room is suddenly making itself known.

“I thought we were having a conversation,” Daphne ventured at last, tone cool and impersonal. Pansy rolls her eyes and moves to sit cross legged against her pillows.  
“Yeah, about me and Blaise, not you and -”  
“Yeah, that’s what I was talking about!”  
“Then how did Neville bloody Longbottom get involved?”  
“I thought you liked Neville.”  
“Yeah but hearing you talk about him for two weeks straight is doing my head in, Daphne!”  
“Not like I didn’t put up with you talking almost constantly about Draco for the whole of our first year? I swear, second thing you said to me was ‘this is my boyfriend, Draco, you’ve probably heard of his parents’ and from there it was a lost fucking cause.”

Pansy stares at Daphne incredulously; for the first time ever, Daph seems to regret her words. Pansy and Draco’s breakup had been somewhat messy.

“Y’know, if you don’t ask you don’t get, Daphne. I didn’t know that me talking about him was such a bloody problem to you; if I had, I would have stopped.”  
“But I barely knew you! I wanted you to like me.”

The last part comes out petulant and insecure. Pansy is stopped dead in her tracks, having been ready to wage World War Three on her friend for being such a bitch. Pan and Draco were still friends, but it was a tacit agreement that their past relationship was not brought up by anyone, under any circumstances. Instead of running her big mouth, Pansy is overwhelmed with fondness and God dammit, because she had wanted to stay angry this time, had been actively feeding the fire in her own head throughout the short altercation.

“I… Of course I liked you,” Pansy mumbles, frowning down at her lap where her hands curl together then uncurl. “Kind of hard not to.”  
“I didn’t think of it like that. You were all pretty, with close friends and a career path in mind and like… Goals and money and shit. I didn’t have any of that.”  
“You’re gorgeous, Daph, don’t start.”  
“But I didn’t feel it, then. S’only when I got to be friends with you that I actually felt decent looking.”  
“Well then you’re an idiot; ask anyone, you’re gorgeous.”

Daphne felt let down; she’d wanted a different outcome from that confession, but she was too afraid to pursue it now. Her shoulders slumped and she turned away from Pansy, tapping her fingers without rhythm on her knees.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter; sorry I pissed you off.”

They lapse into uncomfortable quiet, Pansy watching Daphne who is watching the floor. The need to say something is building.

“You were definitely writing poetry, though,”

Pansy laughs despite herself, surprised by the sudden change of topic.  
“Yeah, I was.” Daphne fist pumps the air in triumph, rocking backwards on the bed with the momentum.  
“Knew it! What were you writing about? When did you start writing poetry? You seriously did call it poncy rubbish when I told you I liked it, just incase you think I’ve forgotten.”  
“Well it is poncy rubbish. And mine is terrible poncy rubbish, so stop getting yourself so excited; it wasn’t about anything, really. Probably doesn’t make any sense.”  
“I’ve done a poetry module, I can read it if you want!”  
“Oh God no,” Pansy snorts, posture loosening off at last. “That’s a terrible idea.”  
“Why?” Daphne turns and fixes her with an intense look that freezes Pansy to the spot.

 

“Well… Because it’s shit.”  
“Is it really soppy?”  
“Maybe.”  
“About Blaise?”  
“No!”  
“Then who? You’re supposed to tell me everything, y’know - who is this mysterious person?”  
“Not your business.”  
“Definitely my business.”  
“Nope.”  
“Yes.  
“Nope”  
“100% is, deadlock sealed.”  
“Oh damn, you got me,” Pansy drawls, her laugh still evident in her tone. “You’re such a 12 year old.”

Daphne puts her hand to her heart in mock offense, mouth open in shock. Pansy fondly rolls her eyes before looking down at her lap again; this conversation is awkward for her.  
“Should’ve taken drama,” Pansy points out, hoping again to change the subject. Daphne doesn’t fall for it.  
“I’m really happy you’re writing, Pan,” she replies, totally serious.  
“Why?”  
“It’s good for you. I write all the time… Y’know, about feelings and things.  
“About Neville,” Pansy teases, smirking.  
“Not even once. I write about you a lot though,” Daphne grins, wiggling her eyebrows at her.

Pansy is ridiculously flattered, but showing it would probably give away how much stock she puts into Daphne’s affection.  
“I’d hope so. Better talk all the time about how I’m gorgeous and talented and… Um… Enigmatic.” Daphne smirks, gaze dropping again.  
“Yeah, mostly.”  
“You’re a terrible liar,” Pansy jokes, standing to go tidy up her desk. Daphne watches her cross the room, ruminating her next words before spitting them out.  
“Am I lying, though?”  
“Oh, probably.”

 

Pansy is focused on putting her pens back into the pot and shuffling her looseleaf papers into a pile, not noticing Daphne creep up behind her. She shrieks as Daphne prods her on both sides of her waist, feeling she must have jumped a foot in the air.  
“Lying’s a sin, darling,” Daph giggles into her ear from behind, hands on her waist before making a grab for the notebook she had seen Pansy writing in earlier. Pansy’s too quick for her, though, taking the notebook out herself and spinning to face Daphne, holding the book behind her back. Daphne comes up short, staring down at her friend in surprise. She’d been certain that would work.  
“Not so fast, you little shit,” Pansy laughs, nudging Daph’s shin with her toe. Daphne pouts.  
“But I wanna seeeee,” she whines, reaching for Pansy’s waist to try and steal the notebook but only succeeding in getting her fingers trapped between Pan’s arms and ribs. “Please?” she begs, batting her eyelashes. Pansy snorts.

“Never in a million years.”  
“Even if I beg?”  
“Nope.”  
“Come ooon, I won’t laugh if it’s rubbish,” Daphne promises earnestly, hoping that by some chance Pansy will have a change of heart.  
“Don’t assume it’s rubbish!” Pansy retorts, indignant.  
“You’re the one that said it is!”  
“Well I’m the only one that’s allowed to imply it’s rubbish in any way.”  
“C’mon, I’ll make you dinner if you let me read it.”  
“I don’t want you to cook for me - the flat’s already disgusting.”  
“Fine, I’ll buy you coffee?”  
“You can if you like, but you still don’t get to read the poem.”  
“I’ll help you get ready to go on your date with Blaise!”  
“Nah, I’m good.”  
“I’ll take you on an even better date than Blaise,” Daphne quips, jabbing the air with a finger as if she’s cracked a particularly difficult problem. Pansy stares at her blankly and they lapse into more awkward silence.

“Are you asking me out?”

Daphne looks to one side and then the other as if the answer might be presented to her by some entity.

“Maybe.”

Pansy hesitates, fiddling with the binding of her notebook.

“Well, alright then - I’ll go on a date with you, but you better make it good.” She tries to come off nonchalant but the darkening of her cheeks probably gives her away.  
“I’ll give you a good old snog at the end if that sweetens the prospect,” Daphne grins, eyes twinkling with her success.  
“You’ve not got the nerve,” Pansy teases, rolling her eyes.  
“Bet I do.”  
“Bet you don’t.”  
“Bet I do.”  
“Bet you d-mmph!”

Some time later, they’re sitting listening to music while Daphne repaints her nails. While she waits for them to dry, she steals a glance up at Pansy who is scribbling in that notebook again.  
“I won the bet - I should get to read the poem now.” Pansy sighs wearily, looking up from her writing a quirked eyebrow.  
“Won’t you let it go?”  
“Nah, not likely,” she smiles innocently, shrugging.  
“Fine. But I get to read what you wrote about me in your journal.”

 

…

“Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Pansy's poetry is definitely about Daphne btw)


End file.
